


Zhampagne Supernova

by bigficenergy



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Banter, Bathroom Sex, Hook-Up, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, References to Oasis (Band), Teasing, The Wobbly Elm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigficenergy/pseuds/bigficenergy
Summary: Patrick meets David for the first time at the Wobbly Elm, where they both land after leaving bad blind dates.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 79
Kudos: 304





	Zhampagne Supernova

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roguebaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguebaby/gifts).



> There's a little gas left in this David/Patrick tank yet! Weeks ago, [Amy posted on Tumblr](https://roguebabyinyourstore.tumblr.com/post/632837914100908032/need-me-an-enemies-to-lovers-fic-where-they-get): "need me an enemies to lovers fic where they get set up on blind dates with other people that go horribly wrong and they commiserate somewhere together (a bar? a cafe?) and end up sleeping together," and it got the wheels turning. This isn't quite what was being pitched (they don't really start as enemies, at least no more so than they're enemies between David's first and second times meeting Patrick on the show, lol) but still, credit where credit is due for the idea. I thought this would be a quick one shot. I got carried away. Enjoy? 🥂

_It’s not the end of the world,_ Patrick tells himself for the twentieth time, staring into his whiskey. _You didn’t even really want to go on the date. It doesn’t have to count if you don’t want it to._

But he does want it to count. Even though it was a blind date, orchestrated by his nosy but well-meaning housemate, with a guy he had zero chemistry with, resulting in calling it a night early and ending up alone at the only bar for miles… it’s a big deal.

It’s a big deal, because it’s the first time he’s ever gone on a date with a man.

 _It means something to have tried,_ he thinks. _What are the odds of getting it right the first time, anyway?_

His thoughts are interrupted when a man with notably strong eyebrows and a leather jacket sits on the stool next to him with a dramatic huff, tapping out a text on his phone before dropping it on the bar countertop. Everything about his look seems meticulously crafted: his hair, his stubble, the fit of his clothes, his selection of silver accessories, the way his shoelaces are tied up around the ankles of his boots. He’s _very_ attractive. Patrick smiles. It feels good to let himself think that.

Then, the man opens his mouth.

“Hi, hello, excuse me,” he says to call the bartender over. “Um, do you have anything like an elderflower liqueur? I had this”—he gestures with one hand, as if to conjure up his memory—“prosecco-elderflower cocktail at a pop-up speakeasy in New York a few years back, and I feel like if I could just have that drink one more time, my night might not be so incredibly pathetic.”

The bartender, a gruff, bearded fellow, looks at the man with complete disinterest.

“Do we look like we got anything elderflower here?” he asks, gesturing vaguely around at the very divey bar.

“Can you do something close?”

The bartender shrugs. “Tom Collins?”

“Sure, whatever,” the man sighs.

Without another word, the bartender goes to the other end of the counter to make the drink. The man rubs his temples, then folds his arms on the bar, his eyes closed. Patrick tries not to stare. So the guy is a bit irritable. He’s still nice to look at. Maybe he’s had a bad day. And if he hasn’t, and he’s just rude, well, what does Patrick have to lose? He’s already struck out once tonight and survived. He’s feeling brave.

“Rough night?”

The man turns his head lazily to look at him, then seems to take a brief interest, sizing him up. Patrick wasn’t expecting that.

“I think that’s the bartender’s line,” the man says cooly.

Patrick sucks in air through his teeth. “Yeah, I don’t think he cares. You didn’t give him much reason to, to be fair.”

The man’s thick eyebrows knit in annoyance. “I’m sorry, were you eavesdropping?”

“I was just sitting here. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, really. Figured you must have had a bad day to be so…”

The man blinks expectantly.

“...brusque?” is what Patrick goes with.

The man huffs. “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I just got back from a very disappointing date, and I feel I’ve earned the right to be a bit _brusque_.”

Well. That’s certainly something Patrick can sympathize with.

The bartender returns with the man’s drink and tells him it’ll be $7.

“You can put it on my tab,” Patrick says.

The man looks like he might protest, but the bartender has already turned away to the register.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” the man says, and it’s only then that Patrick realizes the gesture might have implied a hope for some kind of reciprocity.

“As someone who also had a disappointing date tonight, it felt like the empathetic thing to do,” Patrick explains.

“I see.” He looks at Patrick like he’s reassessing him. “Well, you clearly put in some effort. Took them somewhere nice. You should feel good about that, at least.”

Patrick notes both the neutral pronoun, and the assumption that he’d planned the date. _This is your chance to say it out loud,_ he thinks. _This guy isn’t going to care, and even if he does, you’ll probably never see him again anyway._

“He took me,” Patrick says, then regrets the phrasing when he sees the man raise an interested eyebrow. “I mean he picked the restaurant,” he amends. “And it was actually pretty casual.”

“Then what’s with the jacket?”

Patrick looks down at the navy blue blazer he’d agonized over when getting dressed for his date earlier, and has to laugh at himself.

“I overdressed,” he admits. “I was nervous.”

“Why were you nervous?”

“You know, I think I’m monopolizing this conversation. I feel like I should give you a turn.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Patrick shrugs. “Could start with your name.”

The man takes a sip of his drink, considers the glass, then looks back at him. “David.”

“You sure? Seems like you had to think about that.”

“I was deciding whether or not to give you my real name.”

“Did you?”

“I did,” David says, like he’s not entirely sure _why_ he did.

Patrick holds out his hand. “Then I’m Patrick.”

David shakes his hand, eyeing him curiously.

“So, David. Why was your date disappointing tonight? Are you sure you weren’t just brusque with them?”

“Ha ha. No, I was very polite considering the fact that she brought her husband with her because they were in search of a third.”

“Oh,” Patrick says. He supposes if he wishes people wouldn’t so confidently assume he’s straight, he shouldn’t have assumed David’s preferences.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve done couples. But that’s the kind of thing you should be up front about. It requires a whole different outfit and mindset.”

Something about that reasoning tickles Patrick, and he puts his elbow on the bar so he can obscure his smile with his hand, hoping to look thoughtful and not like he’s laughing. David is taking another sip of his drink and doesn’t seem to notice.

“I guess I should have known,” he continues. “The guy who set the date up was the last guy I was… involved with. And I’d ended things with _him_ because _he_ had also been seeing my friend, and _she_ and I had already been down that road to near-disaster, so when the guy wanted all three of us to… you know… we both broke things off.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“I appreciate clear intentions,” David says. He pauses, poking at the ice in his glass with his straw. “Um… this drink is very strong, and I feel like I’ve said too much now. Back to you. Why were you nervous about your date? You seem generally confident.”

“Do I?”

“Well, previously, on this evening,” David says, as if he’s recapping an episode of television, “you insulted a perfect stranger, and then you bought his drink. It’s not strictly speaking _nice_ game, but it’s game.”

“Did I really ‘insult’ you though…?”

“Why were nervous for your date, Patrick?”

Hearing David say his name like that catches him by surprise, and he can’t think of anymore ways to stall.

“Uh, well…” He stares into his glass. “It was my first date with a guy.”

He tosses back the rest of his drink and sets his glass down on the bar before looking back over at David. He doesn’t know what he expected to see. He’d feared judgment, amusement, that a guy his age had just now figured out something this important about himself. But he finds none of that on David’s face.

“Well cheers to that,” David says, raising his glass briefly before finishing off his drink. He’d still had quite a bit left, and he grimaces after swallowing. “Sorry it didn’t go well.”

“It wasn’t bad,” Patrick feels the need to clarify, focusing again on his now-empty glass. “It just wasn’t… good.”

“What was wrong with him?”

“It’s nice of you to assume the problem was him.”

“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, really.”

Patrick looks up, and David is giving him this cheeky little smirk, so he knows the callback was intentional. It’s very clear now that the interaction with the bartender had misled him. David isn’t so self-involved that he can’t also be sharp and funny and conversational if he wants to be. It seems Patrick has earned his attention, and he likes that. He likes it enough to accept David’s line of questioning.

“There was nothing wrong with him. But he was uh…” Patrick sighs. “You’re gonna laugh.”

“What?” David asks. He doesn’t bother reassuring Patrick that he won’t laugh, but he’s leaning in now, eyes bright with anticipation, and Patrick can’t resist answering.

“He was just… we had too much in common.”

“Huh. So do you just think very little of yourself or…?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. We both went to school for business, we both played baseball in high school, we’re both only children. But it was kind of weird, to be honest. And my last relationship… she was my high school sweetheart, this girl I basically grew up with. I don’t know, I guess it’s just that, the whole reason I moved here was for a new start. I think I’m just looking for something different. Someone different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t really know.” Patrick laughs, feeling a little shy about everything he’s said. “I guess I’m still trying to figure out the details.”

“So how did you end up on a date with a fellow business-major jock?”

“I didn’t say I was a jock.”

“You said you played a sport in high school.”

“Yeah, but being a jock is like, a whole thing.”

“Did you have one of those jackets?”

“A letterman jacket? I mean yeah, I played varsity.”

David gestures at him as if to say he’s just proved his point. “What else is there to it? Shoving nerds in lockers? Homoerotic friendships with your teammates? And aversion to literature and the arts?”

“Well, I love to read, and I play guitar, so…”

“Mm, so you’re that guy at parties, right? Acoustic guitar nobody asked you to bring, ‘Wonderwall’ for the hundredth time…”

“No, no way. ‘Rockin’ Chair’ was my Oasis song of choice.”

“I _knew it_. You’re totally that guy.”

“You know what, David?” Patrick clears his throat and sings, “ _I don’t care for your attitude…_ ”

“Oh my god,” David groans, looking around the mostly empty bar, apparently terrified of attention being drawn to them. No one is paying them any mind, and the alt rock standards that have been playing on the jukebox all night provide some cover. Still, David’s reaction just spurs Patrick on.

_“...you bring me down, I think you’re rude…”_

“Okay, okay,” David says, taking the napkin out from beneath his glass and waving it as a white flag. “I’m very sorry for making a clearly accurate guess about the kind of person you are. Now before this musical interlude, you were going to tell me-”

“How I ended up on a blind date with my clone. So, I rent a room and some office space from this guy. He’s very nice, but he’s a bit of a busybody. We had dinner together when I moved in and I told him I’d just ended a long-term relationship, and he took that as an invitation to start trying to set me up with women. I finally told him I wasn’t interested in women. I don’t know why I thought that would stop him. He just switched to pitching men to me.”

“But you took him up on it.”

“Figured it was easier than a dating app.”

“Now _that_ I can drink to.” David waves down the bartender, who had been chatting with another customer. “Excuse me. Can we get two glasses of zhampagne please?”

Without a word of acknowledgement, the bartender turns to retrieve a bottle and two glasses.

“I’m sorry, did you say _zham_ pagne?” Patrick asks. 

“Local staple,” David explains as the bartender sets the glasses down in front of them and pours the effervescent drink. “Same tab, thank you so much.”

David says it so fast, and the bartender is so uninterested in interacting with them, he’s already turned to add the drinks to Patrick’s tab before he can protest. David raises his glass.

“To first dates,” he says. “And more importantly, to the better dates to come.”

Shaking his head with a smile, Patrick picks up his glass and clinks it with David’s, taking a sip. It tastes… interesting.

“You know, usually when you buy a celebratory drink for someone, you pay for it,” Patrick remarks.

“You said you studied business. I figured you were good for it.”

“What exactly do you think I do?”

“I don’t know, something businessy.”

Patrick laughs, unable to even really pretend he’s annoyed. “I’m mostly doing freelance consulting right now. It’s not _cham_ pagne money, but…”

“You enjoy that kind of work?”

“I do,” Patrick says, bristling the tiniest bit at the skepticism in David’s voice. “And what is it that you do?”

“I’m actually between jobs at the moment.”

“Oh. Between what and what?”

“Well, until recently, I was the brand manager of a chic little boutique in Elmdale.”

“Uh-huh. And what was this boutique called?”

David takes a sip of his drink and clears his throat. “The um… the Blouse Barn.”

“I see. I heard that place closed down.”

“No, she was bought out. And I helped negotiate a much better price for the rights to the name, which gave me the startup money for my next venture.”

“Which is?”

David presses his lips together, tipping his head side to side like he’s deciding whether to tell him. It’s endearing.

“I promise I won’t steal your idea.”

“I don’t even know if it’s worth stealing.”

“So run it by me. I’m already buying all your drinks, why not throw in some free advice?”

David considers this for a long moment, then asks, “You know the General Store in town?”

“The one going out of business? Don’t tell me you worked there too, ‘cause then I’d say you’ve got some bad luck following you.”

“No,” David says, fixing him with an annoyed look. “I’m… thinking of taking it over.”

“Wow. That’s ambitious. What do you want to do with it?”

“Well… in a sense it would still be a general store, but in a much more specific… way.”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says, finding he has to fight a smile again.

“Yeah. Like, I don’t wanna just _sell things_ , I’d want to create a branded, immersive experience.”

“Ah, of course. Well, it sounds like you would certainly bring some intrigue to Schitt’s Creek, as a business owner.”

David drains the rest of his zhampagne. “Go ahead, laugh. My own mother doesn’t think I can do it, a stranger’s opinion isn’t going to add much to _that_ sting.”

“What if my opinion is that you should do it?”

David looks back at him dubiously. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Not exactly. For my professional opinion, I’d want to read your actual proposal. But as someone who…” He sighs, turning his glass on the bar. “As someone who left his fiancée to avoid ruining both our lives, hit the road without a plan, and is now here, in a bar, talking to a cute guy… let’s just say, I understand the value in taking a risk.”

Patrick waits a beat to look back up at David. David is looking at him, his lips momentarily parted before he quickly closes his mouth and looks back down at the counter. Patrick thinks he’s smiling, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches on to the point of discomfort, and Patrick searches his brain for anything to keep the conversation going, even after he’s completely shown his hand.

“So what’s _your_ favorite Oasis song?” he asks finally. The zhampagne is too bubbly against the nerves that are turning his stomach, but he takes a sip of his drink anyway, to mask his grimace at his own awkwardness.

“I do _not_ have a favorite Oasis song,” David says, and Patrick thinks he may be in the clear.

“Everyone has a favorite Oasis song, David.”

“Okay,” David says, turning on his stool to fully face Patrick. “You get a pass on the mixed signals because I know this is new territory for you, and I respect that. So what I’m going to do, is I’m going to go to the washroom. I’m going to wait a few minutes, and if you also want to use the washroom, you should feel free to join me. And if not, we’ll call it a night, and we’ll walk away having had some very mediocre drinks and a nice conversation.”

Patrick is so stunned, he’s not sure he’s heard David right. But then David gives him a dimply smile, getting up and walking past him to the hall where the washrooms are. Patrick turns on his stool to watch him walk away, and is rewarded with the sight of David glancing back over his shoulder at him. It’s enticing as hell, but there’s something softer under the look, like maybe David really hopes he’ll follow.

There’s no question in Patrick’s mind; he’s going to follow him. He turns back to the bar counter before David is out of sight, watching the bubbles in his glass fizz. He doesn’t know how long he’s supposed to wait. He doesn’t know what exactly David has planned for them, and he doesn’t really know how far he’s willing to go. But he really wants to find out.

He plans to head to the washroom after he’s finished his drink, but after taking one sip, he downs the rest impatiently, the bubbles burning in his throat. David had seen confidence in him. Time to prove him right.

The bartender’s inattention except when directly called upon serves Patrick well as he gets off of his stool and heads for the hall. He tries to act natural, which makes him feel obvious, but as it’s been all night, the other patrons are engrossed in their own conversations and beers. Patrick makes it to the washroom unnoticed, hesitates for the briefest moment, then goes in.

It’s not the worst public restroom Patrick has ever been in. The low, warm lighting against the brick-red walls manages to feel slightly more cozy than ominous. There’s one urinal, one stall, and, immediately to the left of the door, two sinks. David stands at the further of the two, touching up his hair in the mirror. He straightens up and looks over.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I thought you’d take longer to decide.”

“Should I have?”

David shrugs, looking back at his reflection. “You said you’re still working out what you’re into.”

Patrick smiles at the ground before his nerves propel him to move, and he goes to the other sink, turning on the tap to wash his hands.

“I’ve always liked to take a proactive approach to problem solving.”

Patrick looks at David’s face in the mirror and finds him smiling that cute but restrained half smile he’s seen all night, and he wonders what it would take to get this guy to smile fully, with teeth and everything.

Just then, the door opens, startling Patrick out of his thoughts. A man walks in, passing behind them to go use the urinal. Patrick doesn’t realize he’s frozen with his hands under the running tap until David moves over, coming to stand behind him. He continues fussing with his hair in Patrick’s mirror, so Patrick resumes his task as well, trying not to think about the warmth of David at his back.

The man finishes at the urinal and goes to use the sink David has vacated. Patrick turns off the tap and reaches for a paper towel from the dispenser next to him, thinking that they’re almost in the clear. But as he dries his hands, the man starts whistling “Happy Birthday” while washing his own, dragging the tune out with long, trilling notes. Patrick catches David’s eye in the mirror, and sees his lips are pressed together in annoyance or amusement, or maybe a bit of both. He reaches into one of his jacket pockets and pulls out a lip balm, applying some as the man starts whistling the tune a second time. Patrick figures he should find a way to look busy too, and fishes around in his pockets until he finds some breathstrips he’d grabbed on his way out tonight. He looks at David in the mirror again as he puts one on his tongue, and now David is definitely trying not to laugh. Patrick thinks of offering him one of the breath strips as the man finally dries his hands, but he doesn’t want David to think he’s saying he needs it or anything. And anyway, if he’s got lip balm on him, he probably has his own breath mints too.

At long last, the man leaves. David waits a beat after the door closes behind him, then goes to lock it.

“To be clear,” David says, returning to Patrick at the sink, “that’s to keep other people out, not keep you in.”

“I appreciate that,” Patrick says, turning to face him and letting his eyes drift down to David’s mouth. “I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”

“Good.”

But then David doesn’t move. They’re so close, and Patrick knows he could be the one to close the space between them, that there’s no mistaking where this is heading, but his nerves hold him back. David must see this, because then he _does_ move in, just the tiniest bit, just enough to make Patrick twitch forward too, and then David’s hand is on the side of his neck, and he’s kissing him.

Patrick inhales so sharply in response that David immediately draws back, but the last thing Patrick wants is to stop, so he pulls him back in with a hand on the back of his head.

In all his years of kissing girls, even those he’d been genuinely fond of, he’s never fallen in step with someone this quickly. David’s lips find his as if they’d done this before and he already knows the way. Despite the location and the circumstances of their meeting, it feels easy, natural, and most importantly, so fucking _good_. His nails drag gently through the shortest part of David’s hair at the back of his head, which makes David deepen the kiss, and it feels like someone has suddenly turned on a light in a room Patrick had spent years stumbling around in the dark.

His only complaint is the way the sink is digging into his backside, and he grunts out of equal parts enthusiasm and discomfort when David presses in further. David must read the sound mostly as discomfort, because his hands find Patrick’s shoulders and then they’re moving to the side. Patrick gasps as his back hits the door, and that’s the only breath he gets to take before David is kissing him again.

Patrick’s hand—the one not settled at the nape of David’s neck—falls to one of his leather clad shoulders. He likes how broad and sturdy it feels, and finds himself holding tight. David’s hands on him are gentler, but he’s pressing him hard against the door. It’s new, in a good way. The height that David has on him doesn’t make him feel small per se, but it takes a pressure off of him that he’s never really understood, and lets him sink in and just _feel_. He feels David’s stubble under his thumbs when he brings his hands in to cradle his face. He feels David’s smile in his hands and against his lips, then feels heat bloom in his chest when David’s tongue brushes against his. His hands drop to the lapels of David’s jacket, and he feels David’s breath hitch when he nips, shyly, but to great effect, at his lower lip. He feels David shift a little, feels his hands drift down to his waist, then slide around to the small of his back. He gives easily to the pressure of David’s hands there, the slight cant of his hips bringing him in contact with David’s thigh, positioned between his legs. Patrick breaks the kiss to gasp, and David moves seamlessly into kissing his neck instead.

Things start to get hazy. Between David’s lips and the occasional graze of teeth against his neck, the way their bodies are pressed together, and whatever the warm, woody scent is that David is wearing, Patrick’s senses are becoming overwhelmed. He shifts, trying to find some leverage so that his own thigh can provide David with some friction, but then one of David’s hands slips down to the back of that thigh, encouraging him to hook his knee over David’s hip. Patrick’s mouth drops open, and he can’t close it fast enough to stifle the moan that’s knocked out of him when David thrusts deliberately against him. David moans too, a breathy sound Patrick hears and feels against his neck. Desperate to kiss him again, Patrick coaxes David’s head back up, and their mouths meet messily as they move against each other.

Since David had locked the door, Patrick had taken little issue with their venue for this. Now, however, he’s hard in his jeans and sweating in his blazer, and he can’t imagine David is particularly comfortable in his leather jacket. He’s really not sure what the etiquette is here. He can’t exactly invite him back to his place and subject him to Ray’s inquisitiveness. And anyway, he’s worried that pausing now will stop everything. If this is all David is down for tonight, Patrick will happily take it.

And so he ventures to take a little more, his hands finding the small of David’s back beneath his leather jacket, then the hem of his t-shirt. Beneath his shirt, Patrick spreads his hands across as much of David’s warm skin as he can. David moans against his lips and his hips jerk hard, catching Patrick by surprise. His head falls back against the door and he sighs.

_“David…”_

They both freeze. Already overly warm, Patrick’s body temperature rises further, now out of embarrassment. He’d sounded so _desperate_. And probably too intimate for what this was. He’s sure David is going to call this off, but as David lowers his leg back down, Patrick feels him smiling against his jaw. He does straighten up, but he doesn’t go far, taking the lapels of Patrick’s blazer in his hands and clearing his throat.

“So how many firsts are you looking to cross off your list tonight?”

Patrick looks up into David’s eyes, finding them still full of interest and intent. His heart races, making it difficult for him to focus on a response.

“I don’t really have a… um. What did you have in mind?”

“Well… how far have you gone in a seedy bar bathroom?”

The question drags a regrettable memory of college from the hazy depths of his brain. He goes still for long enough for David to notice, and he pulls back a little further with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Um…”

“Well aren’t you full of surprises,” David says, leaning against one arm on the doorframe, his other hand toying with the lapel of Patrick’s jacket. “And how was that for you?”

Patrick laughs bashfully. “You want details? Okay, uh, it was a college bar, total dive.”

“Sexy,” David teases.

“Very,” Patrick replies sardonically. “I’d just played a set in this local artists showcase. My ex and I were off again, and so I was with this girl I was kind of seeing. I was riding the stage high, and I guess she really liked the performance, so…”

“Mhm. And what did you think of _her_ performance?”

“I mostly remember worrying I was gonna miss my buddy’s band.”

David grimaces, but there’s something sympathetic behind the look. In any case, Patrick deflects.

“In my defense, they were voted best Oasis cover band in the province.”

David wrinkles his nose. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. And I was _really_ into them.”

“Oh god. You’re the _worst._ ”

“So have I completely killed the mood, or should I start singing? You seemed to really like that.”

“You’re insufferable. But…” David brings his other hand back down to the other lapel of Patrick’s jacket and crowds in close again. “I suppose I could ignore your incredibly basic taste in music if you wanted to relive that old memory a little.”

There’s a lot Patrick wants to say. A small part of him wants to prove that he actually has very eclectic taste in music, and ask what music reaches David’s high taste levels. Mostly, he wants to clarify that the memory he described wasn’t an accurate representation of who he is, or who he was, even back then. But he figures these aren’t things you’re supposed to get into during a bar bathroom hookup. He wishes his date, which feels like ages ago now, had been with David. Now, he has to keep things short and sweet.

“I’d rather make a new memory than relive an old one.”

That had sounded a lot less cheesy in Patrick’s head, but David just gives him that enticing little half-smile of his.

“Good. Because I don’t know where I’d find an Oasis cover band at this hour.”

“This bar is the first place _I’d_ look. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

David laughs at that, and the last thing Patrick sees before David is kissing him again is a glimpse of that elusive full smile. He feels that smile fade against his lips as the kiss turns deliberate, and David’s hands move slowly down his jacket, settling on his belt buckle. The impulse to look down and watch as David undoes his belt takes over, but Patrick pulling away from the kiss makes him stop.

“Is this-”

“Keep going,” Patrick says, nodding and kisses him again.

After that, David makes quick work of his belt, and the button and zipper of his jeans. Patrick’s hand curls around the back of David’s neck, grounding himself as David slips his hand into Patrick’s open pants and rubs him over his underwear. It would be easy to lose himself in the sensation, especially when David gives him a biting kiss on his neck, but he’s also eager to reciprocate. He gets his hand between them as well, fumbling for the fly of David’s pants. David pulls back to look at him again.

“Sorry,” Patrick says. “Can I?”

“Go ahead,” David says with a grin, resuming his stroking. Patrick sighs and kisses him, getting his pants undone and pushing his hand in, mirroring David’s movement. His breath catches when he finds David just as turned on as him, and he forgets how to breathe completely when David rolls his hips, seeking out the pressure of his hand and making a contented sound when he finds it. Patrick’s free hand goes to the back of David’s head again so he can steer him into a clumsy kiss full of soft moans and harsh breaths as they move against each other.

 _This isn’t like you,_ says a voice in the back of Patrick’s mind, a voice that has been getting fainter ever since he started veering off the beaten path. Now, he responds to it with a resounding, _Good._ Because no, this isn't like him. It isn’t like him to be spontaneous, to say yes to something just because it feels good, regardless of what people might think. People have described him as confident, but the reality was that he rarely stepped out of his comfort zone. He’d rotated outfield positions instead of throwing his hat in the ring for second baseman, only ever auditioned for supporting roles in his school plays, picked back up with Rachel time and time again. It all made him so dependable and, quite frankly, so _bored_ . He’s not bored now. He’s not even distracted by his runaway thoughts, which has been a problem in the past. He’s so turned on by how turned on David is because of _him_ , it’s easier than it’s ever been to turn the volume down on his brain.

Suddenly, David pushes him harder against the door and breaks the kiss, pressing his stubbly cheek against Patrick’s smoother one, his breath hot against Patrick’s ear.

“Want more?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Patrick breathes immediately, and he can feel David smile.

“You want my mouth?”

“ _Fff…_ uh, is that… is that what you want to…”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then yeah. Yes. Yes plea-”

With that, David gives him a final kiss on the underside of his jaw, then pulls away so that their respective hands are removed from each other’s pants. Patrick slumps against the door, feeling drunker on the kisses and touches than the whiskey and zhampagne. It takes his brain a second to catch up as he watches David pull a couple of paper towels out of the nearby dispenser. He drops them on the floor and kneels down on them, and Patrick can’t help but laugh.

“What, you thought I was going to kneel directly on bar bathroom tile?” David says. “You’re lucky I didn’t ask for your jacket.”

“I would’ve given it to you.”

“No you wouldn’t have.”

“I would have considered it.”

David just shakes his head, taking the four wide, silver rings off his right hand and putting them in the pocket of his pants. He then reaches into a pocket in the inside of his jacket and produces a condom. In all of Patrick’s vague fantasies involving a chance meeting with a stranger, he’d never brought the picture into focus enough to consider details like paper towels on the questionable floor, or condoms in secret jacket pockets. It occurs to him that he’s lucky that David, with his care for the details, is the stranger this is actually happening with.

“What?” David asks, and Patrick realizes that he must have reacted in some way just now.

“No, nothing, you just uh… had higher hopes for your date tonight than I did with mine.”

“This is no more hopeful than you carrying breath strips,” David says, gesticulating with the condom.

Patrick looks at him skeptically. “I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.”

“Well, it’s not very Boy Scout of you to not be prepared.”

“I was never a Boy Scout.”

“Really? I find that _shocking_.”

“Very funny.”

David rolls his eyes at himself and waves a hand. “Sorry, forget that. Is this still…” He uses his fingers to pluck at the waistband of Patrick’s open jeans, waiting for reconfirmed permission.

“Yeah. I want… I’m still… interested.”

Patrick is embarrassed by how difficult words are already becoming, but David just grins, tugging Patrick’s jeans and briefs down just enough to get his dick out. He lets out a pleased little gasp.

“Yes you _are._ ”

Patrick takes comfort in knowing that it’s probably too dim in this bathroom for David to see him blushing, and then it doesn’t matter anyway, because David’s hand is wrapped around him, and this is really, really happening.

After a moment, David lets him go to tear open the condom, handing the wrapper to Patrick to toss in the trash bin he’s closer too. Patrick looks back down to say something quippy, but David has the condom perched between his lips, and Patrick sags heavily against the door as David leans forward and puts it on him with his mouth.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Patrick says resolutely, and he feels more than hears when David laughs, which just makes him groan.

David pulls back and uses his hand to stroke him, at first to make sure the condom is on properly, and then just to tease. Patrick looks down, and the sight that he’s met with, this gorgeous stranger on his knees in front of him but in total control, threatens to overwhelm him entirely. Just as David is about to go back down on him, someone tries to enter the locked washroom, rattling the door against Patrick’s back.

“Occupied!” Patrick calls, high and breathless and with absolutely no thought. He regrets it immediately, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment while David bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Luckily, the person on the other side of the door doesn’t persist, retreating with a muttered, “ _For fuck’s sake…_ ”

“We should probably make this quick,” David says, already starting to move his hand again.

The physical sensation of David touching him outweighs everything, and Patrick relaxes again.

“Won’t be a problem,” he says on an exhale. David smiles in acknowledgement, then leans forward and envelopes him in the heat of his clever mouth.

While it’s true that Patrick has barely even had the touch of his own hand in recent memory, what with the running away and the starting over and the guilt and the housemate who doesn’t always knock, he wouldn’t dream of discrediting David and the efficiency with which he is about to get him off. He’s not doing anything elaborate, he’s just focused, attentive, and Patrick once again feels lucky to be having this first experience with this guy.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Patrick gasps, again, when David stops the gentle bobbing of his head to curl his tongue around the head of his cock. David groans in response, and then the hand he’d had braced at Patrick’s hip is gone. When Patrick peeks down, he sees David has moved that hand between his own legs, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut and bite his tongue. He can’t remember ever having to hold back so much during sex, and now his hips keep moving in search more of David’s mouth, and he can feel the sounds he wants to make bubbling up from deep in his chest.

The next thing he feels is one of David’s hands seeking out one of his, which has been balled in a fist and braced against the door frame. He relaxes it and lets David guide it to his head. Touching David’s immaculate hair feels forbidden, but David is looking up at him, giving him a small nod of encouragement while his lips are still wrapped around his dick, and Patrick’s fingers tighten reflexively. David’s eyes fall shut and he moans, emboldening Patrick to comb his fingers through David’s hair until he finds a better grip, giving the soft strands a gentle but more deliberate tug. David exhales sharply, his movements stuttering to a halt for just a moment before he pulls back a little and does that thing with his tongue again that makes Patrick’s hips jerk hard.

From there, it’s only another moment or two before Patrick comes, slapping his free hand over his mouth to muffle a moan that still manages to sound like David’s name. David rides it out with him, not pulling back until the hand on Patrick’s mouth falls away, and the one in David’s hair relaxes, petting lazily at him until David moves to stand.

Patrick’s eyes are closed, but he hears rustling as David tosses the paper towels he’d laid down in the trash. Urgency rises back up in Patrick as he regains his bearings, and he reaches out to grab hold of the lapels of David’s jacket, reversing their positions so that David is backed up against the door. Patrick leans in to kiss him, but stops with a mumbled apology so he can get rid of the condom and pull his jeans back up. He doesn’t bother with the belt, already self-conscious about his floundering, but when he looks back at David, David is looking at him with thinly-veiled eagerness. So Patrick kisses him again, and David kisses back enthusiastically, gripping Patrick’s shoulders. Patrick’s hands wander downward, pausing at the waist of David’s pants, which are still open from before. They break the kiss, both taking a breath.

“You don’t have to, um…” David says.

“I know. Do you not…?”

“No. I mean yes, I… if you…”

“I want to touch you.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” David breathes against his lips, kissing him again. Patrick melts into it for a moment before remembering what he’d just been given permission to do. He tugs David’s pants down with confidence, but hesitates at the waistband of his underwear. David gives him another little nod of encouragement, bumping their noses together. It makes Patrick smile, and he pushes past his shyness, gets David underwear pulled down, and for the first time, wraps his hand around a cock that’s not his own.

A flurry of sensations and emotions follow. Their mouths press together again, gracelessly, David’s moan reverberating against Patrick’s lips. David’s hips rock into Patrick’s touch, and it takes a moment for Patrick to find a rhythm. It’s both familiar and new, but it’s less about the act itself that’s making Patrick heart flutter in his chest, and more about how his mind is already skipping ahead to what else he’d like to do with David, what he looks like under his casually chic clothes, what he looks and sounds like when he comes. When David pulls out of the kiss to lean against the door, eyes closed and lips parted, Patrick knows he’s at least going to get to experience that last part.

He looks down between them, wishing for just a little more light, and a little less clothing in the way. He already has his hand on one of the most intimate parts of this man’s body, but he wants more. He wants to be able to kiss a path from his neck, down his chest. He wants to drop to his knees and take him in his mouth until he can taste him in the back of his throat.

His swirl of fantasies is brought to an abrupt halt when one of David’s hands covers his, stopping his movements. He looks up, mortified, wondering if he’d done something wrong.

“Stop for a sec,” David breathes, his eyes still closed. Patrick waits, and then David is removing his hand from him completely. Before Patrick can apologize, David’s eyes open and hold his gaze as he brings Patrick’s hand up, folding all but his middle and index finger down, and takes those two fingers in his mouth. Patrick is left with his mouth hanging open while David sucks lasciviously on his fingers. He can tell that David can tell what it’s doing to him by the glint in his eye, even while his mouth is too busy to smirk at him.

He releases his fingers after a moment, making a point to leave them wet, and guides Patrick’s hand back down. At the last moment, Patrick gets with the program and uses his thumb and two fingers to focus on rubbing the head of his cock, thinking about the way David had teased him with his tongue. David moans openly, a soft but unguarded sound, so Patrick keeps touching him like that. When he feels David’s own wetness, he rubs his thumb over it, earning him a louder moan that makes him flush hot.

“More,” David says, and Patrick obliges, stroking him with a firmer grip and taking advantage of the way his head lolls back to kiss and nip at his exposed neck. He thinks the sound David makes might be a breathy laugh, but it quickly turns into another moan, and a plea of, “ _Faster._ ” Again, Patrick obeys, eager to follow any direction David gives him. He’s panting, they both are, and then David’s hand covers his again, but not to stop him this time. He groans brokenly and Patrick feels him pulse in his hand as he comes, the mess of it caught under David’s palm. Patrick watches his face through it, his brows furrowed and lip bitten at the peak, then everything relaxing with a deep breath and contented sigh.

He sways forward a little and his forehead meets Patrick’s, both of them smiling at the soft collision. Knowing it’s probably his last chance, Patrick tilts his head back to kiss David one more time. David hums like he wasn’t expecting it, but then kisses him back until he has to pull away to take a breath. He blinks his eyes open and glances over to the paper towel dispenser, so Patrick reaches over with his free hand to pull one out for each of them. David murmurs a thank you, and they share a fumbling moment of cleanup before David excuses himself to finish in the stall.

And just like that, the moment has passed. Patrick tosses his paper towel, washes his hands, and takes his time tucking his shirt back in, and refastening his jeans and belt. He’s not sure if he should wait if David takes longer than him, or if he’s expected to leave now that they’re done. He doesn’t want to leave. He smooths his hands down his pants, over his jacket, then goes through his pockets, just to do something while David is still rustling around in the stall. 

In one of his pockets, Patrick finds a couple of the basic business cards he’d just received back from the printer earlier in the week. He knows it’d be so transparent to give one to David now, but he _had_ told him about wanting to take on the General Store. It’s a small town. David would likely find his way to him to get his license anyway. It would be reasonable to give him the contact information he knows he needs. He takes one of the cards out of his pocket.

David emerges from the stall and heads for the sink. By the look on his face, Patrick guesses that David hadn’t been sure if Patrick would stay or leave either.

“We should probably stagger our exits,” David says, turning on the tap to wash his hands. “In my experience, the public appreciates even a bad attempt at subtlety.”

“Right. Sorry, I just wanted to give you this.”

Patrick holds out the card. David looks at it, looks at Patrick, looks back at the card, then back down at the sink. He finishes washing his hands, while Patrick keeps the card held out the whole time. It’s awkward, and Patrick fights his flight impulse until David finally dries his hands and takes the card.

“What is this?”

Patrick feels his mouth twitch, but schools his face. “It’s my business card.”

David looks at the card, then back at Patrick, waiting.

“For if you… for when you take on the General Store,” Patrick explains. “You’ll need a business license, which is the kind of thing I can help you with.”

David nods. “Right. Your business card. For business calls.”

“Yeah. Or texts. That’s, uh, that’s my cell. I don’t have a landline, so… if you have any questions or want to set up an appointment, you can call or text, whatever you prefer.”

David nods again. “Well, thank you.”

For a moment it looks like he might say something else, but then he just pockets the card, swapping it for his rings, which he puts back on. He looks up again, silence stretching between them.

“So I’m gonna…” David finally says, pointing past Patrick at the door.

“Yup,” Patrick says, stepping out of the way so he can pass.

“And wait just, like a few minutes before you…”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.”

David pauses the briefest second longer before unlocking the door, and as he’s about to push it open and leave, Patrick scrambles to find an appropriate word to end this on.

“Goodnight, David,” he ends up saying.

With the door cracked open, David gives him one final little smile.

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

And then he’s gone. Patrick turns to one of the sinks, bracing his hands on it and taking a deep breath. He waits for reality to come rushing back in, for the thrill and euphoria to give way to guilt and shame. But when he looks up at his reflection, he watches the corner of his mouth turn up into a smile.

He feels fine.

Better than fine. After years of going through the motions day to day, living the life he thought was expected of him rather than one that felt right to him, he’s excited to see what tomorrow brings. If there’s a bit of a twist in his gut, it’s only because he kind of already wants to see David again, but he knows he shouldn’t get attached to the first guy he hooks up with in a bar washroom. Still, he hopes David will call, even if it’s only for professional reasons.

The bathroom door swings open, and Patrick turns on the tap, washing his hands again so that the man walking in doesn’t know he’s just been standing there, lost in a major revelation. The man passes behind him to use the urinal, paying him no mind. Patrick dries his hands, straightens his jacket, and heads back out into the bar.

The little part of him that is already hoping David will call had also hoped against hope that David will have decided to stay for another drink. Patrick is fairly certain that David would stand out to him in any setting, and it doesn’t take more than a quick glance around the room to know that he’s definitely gone. He tamps down his disappointment, reminding himself that his night could have just ended after the boring blind date, and heads over to the end of the bar, where the gruff bartender is wiping down the counter.

“Hi, can I close out when you have a second?”

“Other guy paid your tab already,” the bartender says, not looking up from his task.

“Really?” Patrick smiles, pleasantly surprised. Then, it occurs to him to ask, “Uh, did he tip?”

“Barely had enough cash to cover the bill,” the bartender says, stashing his rag and pulling out a glass to pour a drink for himself. “Put his change in the jukebox.”

While Patrick had suspected that maybe David hadn’t tipped as generously as he had been planning to, that detail seems odd. Wouldn’t it have been easier to have just left the change as a tip? Patrick can’t imagine David picking the Pearl Jam song that was currently winding down on the jukebox. It probably would have taken him forever to find a song he approved of. It might have been endearing to watch.

 _What happened to not getting attached to the first guy to show an interest?_ Patrick shakes his head and takes out his wallet.

The Pearl Jam song ends, followed by a lull. When the next song kicks in, the first sounds of it immediately pull Patrick’s focus.

Waves lapping at a shore.

A gentle guitar riff.

Strumming on a second guitar.

Patrick is already grinning before the vocals begin.

 _“How many special people change?  
_ _How many lives are living strange?  
_ _Where were you while we were getting high?”_

It occurs to Patrick that the bartender is still right there, so he finishes what he was doing, taking out what probably ends up being too much cash and setting it on the bar. The bartender finishes his drink, pulls out a second glass, pours a finger of whiskey, and slides it to Patrick.

“Have a good night,” he says simply, taking the tip and turning away to busy himself with something else.

Patrick picks up the glass and takes a sip, in awe of how much easy kindness he’s already encountered in his short time in this odd little town. The song continues:

_“Someday you will find me_   
_Caught beneath the landslide_   
_In a champagne supernova_   
_A champagne supernova in the sky…”_

He doesn’t know if the song selection is David answering the question from earlier in the evening about what his favorite Oasis song is, or if he’d just picked an Oasis song to tease him. If he sees David again, he’ll have to ask.

The version of the song playing is the shorter radio edit, but Patrick would have made his whiskey last the whole seven-and-a-half minutes of the album cut if he’d had to. Whenever he hears this song now, he knows he’ll remember this night. He’ll remember David, with his leather jacket and half-smiles. Wherever he goes from here, tonight was a step in the right direction.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you're all well.
> 
> Some notes on Oasis: Oasis wasn't originally gonna be such A Thing in this story, but once the title came to me, I had to run with it. "Rockin' Chair" is the song I picked as Patrick's go-to simply because there was a guy at my high school who, for a while, would constantly play it outside the music room before class and during breaks. So it happens to be the only Oasis song I know other than the major singles, and the lyrics were good for the little bit where Patrick sings to tease David.
> 
> Also, in the follow up that I am definitely not writing, I would definitely have David work "Where were you while we were getting high?" into his stoned voicemails to Patrick. :)


End file.
